Month: December 2019

Last week I was nerding out (as one does when one is a nerd) over the USEA Convention live stream. One of these days I’ll actually make it to a convention in person, but until then I greatly appreciate that I can watch everything on the live stream. They cover lots of really good topics, from nutrition to fitness to course design. And almost without fail, every year I come away with a few really good little juicy tidbits to have a think about.

This time, the first one that really commanded my full attention was the “Having and Instilling Rider Responsibility” talk. A lot of it was the usual stuff – know your horse, be prepared, work with a trainer, know when to call it a day, etc. But the part that really got me thinking was when someone mentioned level-shaming. He talked about a woman who had been incredibly successful with her horse at Beginner Novice for years, winning a lot. She was very comfortable at that level and had fun with it, and never really wanted to go higher despite everyone else pressuring her about it. Eventually she got tired of all the comments and pressure and quit eventing entirely, electing to do dressage instead.

That made me sad.

There is a lot of truth in that though, there IS this constant feeling of “what’s next” and “move-ups” in the whole equestrian world, and eventing is certainly not immune. We have this tendency to say “it’s just beginner novice” or “it’s just novice” or “it’s just training”… on and on and on. I think that’s particularly true at BN and N, where it’s easy to feel discounted altogether. But the truth is that (according to a statistic in another presentation) 75% of the starters in the US are at Training level or below. The vast majority is at the lower levels. I’m not sure why there’s this particular lack of worth associated with competing at those levels… we wouldn’t exist as a sport without it.

Not to mention that, for non-pro’s, riding isn’t the only thing in people’s lives. It’s their fun thing, their outlet, their escape from the stresses of the real world. If someone wants to show up all season for the rest of their life and run BN – why not? If they’re happy at that level, and they’re safe and having fun, what difference does it make if they never move up? Some people genuinely want to move up the levels as high as they can make it. Other people want to challenge themselves to be the best they can at a level they feel comfortable at and have fun with. There’s nothing wrong with either approach.

Which got me thinking about the things we say to people, and the culture, and the power of our words and attitudes. I know, without a doubt, that I have absolutely level-shamed people before, albeit unintentionally. It’s somehow natural to say “so when are you planning that Novice move up?” in conversation and then if the person acts hesitant we tend to offer things like “oh but it’s just a few more inches, no big deal! Horses can still just trot over that!”. But that’s not fair at all, is it? First of all, some people don’t have a desire to move up, and it’s not our place to make them feel like they should. Why even ask? They’re allowed to enjoy the sport however they like.

Second of all, it’s rude AF to be dismissive about what to someone else is a big deal. If they bring it up and seem worried about it, why not elevate the person instead of demeaning the task. To me it might be a speed bump, but to someone else it might be a mountain (or vice versa). Words have so much power… we, myself very much included, have to be more thoughtful about how we use them, both to others and to ourselves. I never want to make anyone feel less than, or like they don’t belong. Truth be told, I think every single person brave enough to put themselves out here in this sport is an utter badass, no matter what level they’re running. This shit is hard.

During this discussion they mentioned that the entire point of this sport (for us non-professionals anyway) is to enjoy the time with our horses. The fact is, we’re not going to the Olympics, and that’s okay. At the end of the day, if you’re enjoying your horse and you’re happy with what you’re doing, nothing else really matters. If you like the level you’re at, you shouldn’t have to feel any pressure to move up. And you definitely shouldn’t have to feel inferior.

It’s funny because I think there’s something about moving up another level that makes us think we’ll suddenly be taken more seriously or seen as more competent. It doesn’t. I don’t think I’m any more of a “legit” rider now that I have a few Prelims under my belt than I was when we were first starting out at BN. I’ve learned more yes, and have more experience, but… the level I show at has had no bearing on making me a better or more valid person. And truth be told, all I’ve really learned throughout all of this is that I have so much more respect for the person who can say “I’m comfortable at X level with this horse, I’m happy there, the horse is happy there, I feel safer there, and that’s what I’m going to do, so fuck anyone who doesn’t like it” than I do for the person who says “If I only we can make it to X level, it will mean I’m a good rider or people will think I’m worthy”.

One quote that stuck out to me in particular was “knowing what you and your horse are comfortable with, no matter what level it is, doesn’t make you a terrible rider, it makes you a good horseman”.

That really could not be more true. When I think of the people I admire most, it’s not because they’re successful high level riders, its because they’re great horsemen. They put the horse first, and they know themselves, and they own who they and their horses are. When I think of these people, they range anywhere from low level dressage riders juggling a business and a family to advanced level eventers that do this full time. What level they compete at has absolutely nothing to do with how much I respect them. So why is that “move up” mentality such a deeply embedded part of our culture? How many people ever stop to actually have a hard think about whether they’re doing something because they genuinely want to, rather than because it’s what’s they’ve been made to feel is expected?

The subject gives me a lot to think about anyway. It certainly makes me consider what I say, and how it might be perceived, which in turn has made me reflect on things I know I’ve said in the past. It’s never my place to make someone feel like what they’re currently doing isn’t good enough, and I certainly never want to do that. If I ever have, I apologize sincerely. No one should ever feel like they have to say “Oh I’m just running BN” (um yeah hi, y’all are literally the lifeblood of our sport) nor should they have to explain to anyone why they are or aren’t moving up or when. It’s entirely possible to just… let people be, and support them no matter what, and let them enjoy their horse and do what makes them happy. The pushing and the pressure and the discussions about moving up or not – that’s something that should be between a rider and their trainer, certainly not their peers.

What do you think? Have you witnessed level-shaming, or been on the receiving or (perhaps unintentionally) the giving end?

As of tomorrow I will have officially served owned Henry for 6 years. He is, no contest, the best horse I’ve ever had. Maybe not the fanciest or the easiest or the most athletic, but he’s the one who has taught me more than any other, made all of my dreams come true, showed me some even BIGGER dreams, and made those come true too. My world has gotten so much bigger and brighter since the day he stepped into it. I owe him everything, he owes me nothing, and he will never be for sale. I hope I can give him a life that’s even half as amazing as he’s made mine.

But you guys know all that, because my favorite thing in the world is to talk about how fabulous that horse is. So instead of another post where I wax poetic about the best horse on the planet, instead I’ll just keep it short and simple and post my 6 favorite photos of Henry from the past year.

From our first recognized Prelim. Yes you’re right, he is the most handsome animal in the entire world.

The dressage has been a 6 year ride on the struggle bus, but I think we finally made some big breakthroughs, with 3 of his 4 Prelim tests scoring between 30-33.  (and for the one that didn’t, it was raining and he’s high drama, so…)

Our XC round at Coconino was the best 5 minutes of my entire life, I will remember it forever. My heart absolutely burst with pride and gratitude for this horse on that day. Even if I never have another ride like that, I can die happy.

He puts up with a lot, and does it with mostly good humor. I’m very grateful to have Henry as an equine role model for his “little brother”. He’s seemed to understand his role from the very beginning and has taken on the job with ease.

Everything about this candid shot is perfect. My trainer giving him the last cookie right out of her jar, because he absolutely deserved it. Me smiling at him in the background like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky. 100% accurate depiction of how this unassuming horse manages to worm his way into people’s hearts (and how I’m totally obsessed with him).  

And last but not least, I’m always a sucker for a pic of me patting my pony. I can never thank him enough for the places he’s taken me.

Happy 6 years, buddy, and here’s to many more.

A few weeks ago I did something I’ve never done before: booked a photo shoot for my horses. Aside from show photos I have precisely zero professional photos of my horses. I know that those soft-evening-light, wear-a-nice-outfit-and-pose-with-your-horse type of photos are really popular on Instagram, and they’re pretty, but it’s definitely just… not my bag. I did a very tiny bit of mostly sports modeling years ago to earn extra cash and god I was just so uncomfortable. I learned that I really don’t like being in front of a camera. At all. If you ever see any posed photo shoots from me, I’ve 100% been body snatched, send help immediately. However, I definitely love a good theme photo, and I also love photos of my horses, so when a young local photographer posted about a holiday special, I went for it, opting for black background pics of just the boys.

Fittingly, the shoot was set for the day after Thanksgiving. Perfect time for a Christmas theme. I spent the previous afternoon finalizing what the boys would wear and getting everything cleaned up. I had scoured Amazon earlier in the week to find an antler headband for Presto (because you KNOW he’s a reindeer), which isn’t as simple a task as it seems. His ears are a good 6+ inches long, so I had to find the longest possible antlers to make sure they wouldn’t just get lost behind his ears. Not the weirdest Amazon scour that I’ve ever done, but it might rank top five.

I trimmed up their manes a little bit, and chopped off their grown-out bridlepaths. I don’t take off whiskers or ear hair, so those remained untouched, but I did scrub all the dirt off of Presto’s one sock. And yes, every time I have to clean that little sock I bitch about it endlessly. There’s a lot to be said for Henry’s delightful plain bay. It was a bit too cold for baths (and also I’m not that dedicated) so instead I busted out the vacuum. Turns out the barn owner already had one, so I didn’t have to buy one. Henry thought the vacuum was going to eat him, but dubiously acquiesced after some reassurance. Presto, true to form, thought the vacuum was AWESOME and seemed to enjoy it. Because of course he did.

When I asked you guys for bridle opinions I was already leaning toward the hunt bridle, which got the overwhelming majority of the vote. For Presto I thought his green rope and leather Kincade halter was just a little too busy on his already busy face. I knew if I put him in his bridle he’d just chomp and make faces the whole time, but I didn’t have his plain leather halter with me, and his navy leather halter seemed like it would clash (yes, okay, he has a lot of halters). So I went and dug out the black Kavalkade halter he showed in last year, which is a cob size. I had to drop it to all the loosest possible holes, but it worked.

Look at me, I was prepared. They were going to look great!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA.

The next morning was foggy, with that heavy mist in the air that just makes everything feel heavy. I fed around 6 but the photographer wasn’t scheduled to come until 9, so there’s no way I was going to leave everyone inside for 3 hours. I figured I’d turn them out for a bit and go get them around 8:15-8:30. I turned them out, cleaned the stalls, dumped and refilled the water buckets, spread the manure, then went back in the house to eat breakfast and change. About half an hour later I hear something. Is that… is that RAIN? There was NOTHING on the radar when I turned them out. But sure enough, I look out the window and it’s freaking pouring. By the time I put on my shoes it had already tapered off – it was just a small little pop-up shower, intense but very short-lived. The horses thought this was very exciting and were galloping around chasing each other. It was now 8 o’clock and they were SOAKING WET and absolutely riled up beyond belief.

Naturally I panicked. I went out and grabbed them and brought them into the barn, trying to dry them with towels. Presto is really hairy and was absolutely dripping wet. His previously clean sock was also now even filthier than it had been before I cleaned it the night before. I had each of them in a crosstie and went back and forth trying to get them dry while the horses still left in turnout continued to run around, which continued to amp up the two I’d brought in. Finally I remembered that the vacuum also had a blow-dry setting, so I grabbed it and tried that. Henry absolutely would not have it, but Presto didn’t protest. There I was, 8:30am the day after Thanksgiving, blow-drying my 2yo. This is normal right?

The photographer was early and while Henry was at least mostly dry, Presto certainly was not. I’d been pretty successful with his front half, but his back and butt were still soaked. I apologized to the photographer (I literally had ONE JOB) but she didn’t seem phased and said we could work around it.

We started with Henry, and left Presto in the crossties while we took him out into the courtyard. That pissed Presto off. He thought we were abandoning him all alone, so he proceeded to paw and tapdance the entire time we were working on Henry.

Then we switched horses. After Presto’s shenanigans I figured I’d tie Henry out near where we were shooting to try to help make things easier… which it did. Until Henry untied himself and took off. OMG welcome to the circus. I went and retrieved Henry, and tied him over in the barn instead. He promptly untied himself AGAIN and was off AGAIN. This time I retrieved him and hooked him up to a crosstie (good luck getting out of that without thumbs!), and he proceeded to flail around like a fish on a hook, pooping all over the aisle and churning up a cloud of dust. It was embarrassing. He was terrible.

By the time we finished the photo shoot I kind of hated both of them. They acted like a couple of feral hooligans, which is pretty out of character but still really annoying. I’m glad the pictures turned out great, though. Henry looks absolutely stunning (maybe I’m biased but also I’m right) and the hunt bridle was definitely the right choice. And Presto is ridiculously cute as a reindeer. Very apropos.

The pictures are almost enough to make me forget how bad they (ok mostly Henry) were. Almost. I think it’ll be a while before I ever try to wrangle those morons for a photo shoot again. That is WORK. Props to you people who do this regularly. Many thanks to Rowan Ahearn Photography for her infinite patience and somehow still managing to get great shots despite all the mayhem.

It’s been over a month now since I moved out to the farm full time. My days are longer, I get up earlier, and I perpetually have evidence of horse somewhere on my person, but… I’m loving it.

Mostly because my days are bookended by horses. I get up, I feed the horses, I smooch Henry while he’s eating (boy does he hate that), then turn everyone out (always reminding Quinnie that she’s in charge, and telling everyone else to make good choices) before I get ready for work. Then after work I come home, change, and back out to the barn I go. Granted, there is definitely more work involved, I’m not just hanging around petting ponies. Cleaning stalls, driving the spreader, adding shavings, dumping and refilling water buckets and troughs, throwing hay, hauling feed, stopping the idiot babies from chewing on the fucking fences (I am on my last shred of sanity with that one), etc etc. There’s definitely always something to do.

Spending more time with my horses doing simple care tasks as opposed to just showing up every day and riding, like I did when they were boarded, has shifted the focus of our relationship a bit. I get to see every little detail of their care, right on down to how many times they poop at night and where. How much hay they eat, how much water they drink, their general attitude… all of that is on me. And since they’re right there in the backyard, and I’m the one in control of it, I can tweak whatever I want, whenever I want, whenever it’s needed. It brings the relationship I have with them up to a whole new level. I’m not just the rider or the bill-payer… I’m everything.

It kind of makes the riding part feel a little bit less important, or at least not so much the center of my world. I have a lot more to do than just that. and my time with them can be more… relaxed. Less regimented. The whole dynamic is different, like I feel more at liberty to just enjoy them and less pressure to get something out of them. I really love being able to see them every single day, multiple times a day, and know everything about their lives. I love being able to look out the window and see what they’re up to, or walk outside and scratch their withers, or take way too many videos of them doing things that amuse me. Yeah I’m probably a stalker. I even pull up the cameras several times a day when I’m at work so I can see what they’re doing and make sure everything looks okay.

Even on days like yesterday, where I had to get up at 4 to clean their stalls before work, since it was super disgusting outside and they needed to stay in, it didn’t feel like a chore. Sure, they all completely trashed their stalls during the day anyway, making a disastrous mess (JB dug a hole. Dug. A. Frickin. Hole.). And sure, when I got home and turned them out for a few hours they ran around like complete and total morons almost the whole time. And yes, when it was time to come in for dinner, Presto and JB suddenly couldn’t remember how to find the gate to get from the back field to the front one, so I had to run out there in the semi-darkness and lead them to it using my jacket wrapped around Presto’s neck while also fending off “OH GOOD YOU CAME TO PLAY WITH US” attacks from JB and watching Henry gallop and scream up and down the adjacent fence line. Some days it’s a circus.

Yet, even those days are great days.

But my absolute favorite thing, my very favorite part of every day, is night check. Before bed I always go back out and check on everyone, top off waters, dole out more hay, put on blankets if necessary, and give everyone a goodnight cookie. I give Presto a few smooches on the nose (while exclaiming “this cookie will cost you two nose smoochies, pay up!” like a complete and utter psychopath), and Henry manages to swindle at least 2 cookies out of me, plus a few minutes worth of wither scratches. I stand there, just enjoying the company of my best boys, and everything just feels right in the world. I’m sleeping less and working more, and I show up for morning meetings with hay or shavings or horse boogers on me more often than not, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt so content or so connected to my boys.  There’s something absolutely priceless about that.

I am generally not a very sparkly person, either in personality or when it comes to bling. Sarcasm and dark humor come naturally to me, and my taste is relatively plain and boring aside from the admittedly perhaps slightly out of character pompom obsession (#pomclubforlyfe). The only reason I can tolerate a rhinestone browband on my dressage bridle is because the stones are black… it barely even counts.

I’m definitely not into the whole “can be seen from space” thing that is popular amongst the DQ’s and the western set and definitely some eventers as well. You know what I’m talking about.

My color palette is a snooze, usually falling solidly in the navy with black or gray or white range (or hunter green, when I’m feeling wild). I can’t help it, it’s who I am as a person. I mean, this was my idea of brightening up my navy/white XC colors by adding yellow (which was, for me, quite a bold choice as an accent color):

I’m not at all conservative or traditional as a general human being, so that’s certainly not the reason why I shy away from color or bling. My hair is currently burgundy (look at me getting into the holiday spirit), and before that it was a very dark purple. I have multiple tattoos. I’ve got a floral pair of Doc Martin’s, for god’s sake (because literally anything looks badass on a Doc Martin, I am a 90’s kid and this will be my stance until I die). Anyway, my color preferences clearly don’t stem from conservatism.

I suppose, at the base of things, I actually like pretty much any color if you just make it dark enough. I thought that I had an aversion to all sparkles or bright things, which makes sense if you know me, but lately I’ve come to realize that more and more blingy things are sneaking into my world. Like the hoof boot I got for Henry, for instance, which might be one of my favorite purchases of the year:

It’s magnificent. It’s a darker sparkle on a black base, so it’s not really BRIGHT or disco-ball-esque, but still… it’s so blingy that I can tell from many many yards away if Henry still has his boot on or not. The sun catches it just right and, well… it’s shiny. And that hoof boot has brought me waaaaaaaaaaaaaay more joy than any hoof boot ever should. I’m a little obsessed with it.

And then there are these, Presto’s Christmas gift from his mother (his actual horse mother Sadie, not to be confused with me, his hu-mom) with a little help from Auntie Michelle because Sadie doesn’t have thumbs or the internet or a bank account:

Your eyes do not deceive you, friends… those are navy glitter boots. AND I LOVE THEM. They barely count as blingy, but they’ve got that extra little bit of pizzazz that makes them interesting. Plus they’re NAVY. But sparkly they are, and I love them not just despite it, but actually… because of it. They remind me of the night sky.

These boots are when I realized that clearly it isn’t bling itself that I’m opposed to… it must just be bright, light colored bling. Silver, or gold, or… ok, anything that’s not black or navy or dark, I guess. It’s like I’m okay with making it glittery as long as it ultimately stays relatively dark and depressing and inside my preferred color palette. I’m sure this says something about me on a deeply psychological level.

I was discussing this self-revelation with Stacie (because come on she has like 623 pairs of tall boots and horse boots in every color and finish, who the heck else would you talk to about stuff like this?) and we came up with a name for it:

So I guess my style can be described simply from here on out as “Emo Sparkles”. Slide that broody attitude right on up here and put some black glitter on it, my friend. Who knew I would still be learning things like this about myself in my mid-30’s?

But really though, those navy glitter boots. ❤